


I know that you don't want me here

by SocialBookWorm



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Depression, Gen, allusions to self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 14:41:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15974438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SocialBookWorm/pseuds/SocialBookWorm
Summary: Patton never wanted them to know. He had dealt with it alone; he had always dealt with these moods alone.





	I know that you don't want me here

Patton picked at the edges of his sleeves, and sighed. He really should get up and turn on the lights. Or do the dishes. Maybe actually make himself some food instead of shoving another piece of bread into his mouth. But the thought of moving just seemed...too hard at the moment. Like he’d be trying to walk through mud instead of air.

His phone buzzed next to his arm and Patton poked it idly. Virgil had been trying to get ahold of him all day, something about thanks for the messages Patton had been sending all week. Which only made Patton feel worse, or it would have if he could dredge up anything other than the numb ache in his chest. Because the messages had been an attempt at distracting himself and Virgil deserved better than that.

_My Dark Son <3 10:13 am: pat? r u busy? _

_My Dark Son <3 12:45 pm: i know u don’t have work _

_My Dark Son <3 12:48 pm: txt me when u can _

_My Dark Son <3 1:03 pm: Lo wants me 2 remind u 2 eat 2 _

_My Dark Son <3 3:28 pm: pat im concerned _

_My Dark Son <3 3:29 pm: if u don’t respond im coming over _

Patton took a deep breath and straightened as he started to type out a message. His fingers hovered over the keypad for a long moment before dropping. He should let Virgil know that he was doing alright. That nothing had happened, that it wasn't Virgil's fault Patton wasn't responding. The guilt would only make things worse if he let the messages sit any longer.

But Patton couldn't think of anything to say.

He set his phone back down, leaving the half typed message unsent.

It would blink at him later a daunting taunt that he couldn't even work up the energy to message one of his favorite people. Patton's head slid back down to the table at the thought, and he tugged the hood of his sweater up above his head. The dark helped, just slightly, but did nothing about the pressure on his chest.

He wanted to cry but the thought of crying just made Patton feel worse. Because if he cried than someone really would notice and he would be asked what was wrong. Which was nothing. Nothing was wrong except for himself and his heart. They'd make it into a big deal, and Patton hated the very thought of it.

He didn't want his friends to try and fix something for him. There wasn't anything _to_ fix. Just him and his heart that wouldn't work the same as anyone else. Not to mention that they all had it so much worse than him. He was just tired.

Yeah that was it. He was just tired and if he waited long enough it would go away and he could go back to smiling and cheering them all up. Patton could laugh and smile and then laugh and smile some more if that was what they needed him to do, be an ever eternal fountain of positivity. Patton was who they turned to when they needed a smile and he hated to disappoint them.

Which meant that he never let them see him get like this.

He could deal with it alone anyways,

Patton would simply-

Well, he'd do what he had been doing for the past two weeks, do what he had done his whole life.

Patton took a deep breath and finally heaved himself up from the kitchen table. He let the hood fall further over his face, and tugged the sleeves into sweater paws, running his fingers over the soft fluff inside of it. He left his phone on the table, trying to ignore the new surge of guilt at the thought that it would soon be blowing up with more messages that he wouldn't be answering.

Virgil would tell Logan, who would send a couple of texts, one to Roman and a total of three to Patton, before he started to call. Virgil would text up until the moment that he broke Patton's door down. Roman would alternate texts and calls before helping Virgil break into Patton's apartment. At least, that's how it went when one of the other three felt down.

And when they arrived Patton would paste on another smile, crinkle his eyes as he did so they wouldn't be able to see how it didn't reach his eyes. They would fret and Patton would laugh, wave a turned off phone around, make an excuse about how he forgot to charge it. The lie would be bitter on his tongue.

Patton's shoulders curled inward as he shuffled towards his cabinet. He reached up, towards the back where he knew not even Roman in his scavenging would find, and pulled out a box of oreos. Patton always made sure to have a pack for these days. When he needed the comfort of sugar but didn't have the motivation to bake his own batch.

Patton didn't even bite back the guilt and self hatred about that, simply ripping the packet open and shoving a cookie into his mouth. He clutched the box close and wandered away from the kitchen. He settled down on the couch, curling his legs up and then over the armrest. He closed his eyes as he leaned back and tried not to think about when the others would get there.

He dozed, hating that he wanted to simply forget about them at all, hating that even then he couldn't completely. Patton was just so _exhausted_. He loved his friends to the moon and back. But he- he just _couldn’t_. Couldn’t care, couldn’t act, couldn’t do anything, he just _couldn’t_ today.

( _You fly too high Chickadee, Mother had told him once. It's alright to think about yourself every once and a while. It's not selfish to make sure you're safe before trying to save yourself._ )

Patton opened his eyes, staring at the remote for a long minute. He stuffed another cookie in his mouth and told himself that he wouldn't eat another until he had turned on something to watch. Even a little background noise would help, even if the wrong thing would make him cry. Patton stared at the remote again, and ate another cookie.

God, he hated himself in that moment.

He ate another three cookies before finally reaching for the remote. He leaned over the couch, stretching as far as he could. His fingers brushed the remote and he inched it close enough for him to grab without getting up. He straightened, holding the remote next to his oreos for a moment to just _breathe_.

Patton stared at the remote in his hands, and hated that as soon as he had put in the effort he didn’t want to watch TV anymore. He let the remote drop to the couch cushion and leaned his head back to doze once more. He should probably try to take a bath or shower, or even respond to those messages from Virgil. But he didn’t. He just...didn’t.

His hand dipped into the box of oreos, blinking sluggishly as he hit emptiness. Patton stared at the box for a long moment. He would have to get up to get more. Patton didn’t even know how long he as been sitting there just eating the cookies. Time felt as much of an illusion as Logan normally said it was in that moment.

Patton didn’t have any other oreos, and the thought of eating anything else made his stomach roll. He might be able to slide by with Kraft mac n’ cheese, but he had run out of that last week and had been getting by the oreos stashed around his apartment. Patton knew from experience that trying to force himself to eat ended with gagging and hours in the bathroom if he tried to force past his gag reflex.

He heaved himself to his feet, letting the box drop to the floor despite the idle thought of throwing it away being what got him moving. Patton tugged his hoodie tighter around himself, arms wrapped around his waist in the closest thing he could do in giving himself a hug.

He ignored the way that his eyes prickled just for a moment as he bent down to pick up the box.

His socked feet brushed against the the carpet and then the kitchen tile. The sensation grated on his nerves at the same time that wasn’t enough. He wanted more, but he wanted less. Patton wanted his brain to make up its mind.

He dropped the box into his trash can and slid to the floor of the kitchen. Patton pressed his hands to the tile, wanting to relish in the cool tiles. All it did was make him uncomfortable. Patton leaned back against the counters, ignoring the way that one of the cupboard handles dug into his back. The pain was almost a welcome relief from the numbness that wrapped around his heart.

Patton had never hurt himself, not on purpose anyways. He could never work up the courage or stomach for it. Patton ran a fingernail over the inside of his wrist, over and over again. He pressed lightly, not enough to do more than sting as he felt the slide and bump of the tendons just under his skin. He wondered if actually cutting the skin would help.

Pain scared him though, on a normal day.

Now he couldn’t care less. What kept back his fear of pain also held back the energy to truly hurt himself. Patton tipped his head back. One of the vents that connected to the air conditioning turned on, and Patton didn’t move despite the cold air that blew across his hands and face. It seeped past his hoodie and the only effort Patton made at warming himself up was curling into a tighter ball.

He ran a fingernail over his wrist again.

He knew that no one would care as long as he wasn’t being annoying. Patton could mentally picture the glass wall that he had put up himself between him and the others. He had built it with a grin and encouraging words. He had said nothing more substantial about himself, had never offered anything past his positive attitude. They had never asked and he never encouraged them too.

He was selfish for dreaming of them noticing anything was wrong when he went out of his way to hide it.

Patton closed his eyes picturing the cabinet as the glass wall. He wanted to press his back to it and wish that he had the courage to let people through, to see just what sort of pain he was in. He never wanted them to know. He hated that he could never make up his mind. There was no winning. Either he hurt them by lying and remaining silent, or he hurt them by speaking up and adding even more troubles to their burdened shoulders.

Pain sparked in his palm as his nail caught against his tendon and he winced. The movement made him realize that he was shivering. He flexed his hands, nerves tingling at the action. He stared at his hands as the pins and needles ran through them, flexing them again just for the feeling. He wondered if he would have laughed about being numb inside and the becoming numb outside as well on a better day.

Distantly, he registered the fact that his phone buzzed against the table. A bumble bee pushing against a glass wall. Bump, bump, bump. No matter how hard it tried, it couldn’t shatter the glass and reach the flower it saw behind the glass. Patton wasn’t sure he really wanted it to. He wanted-

His skin itched with the need to scratch until he could draw what he wanted out of his body and put the whole thing to rest.

He brought his hands up to press against his eyes, flinching as he felt the wetness already there. He didn’t know when he had started to cry. A little desperately, Patton wiped at his face, but the more that he cleaned himself the harder he sobbed. His breath hiccuped. His chest felt like someone had laid bricks on top of it.

Knocking echoed through his home, and Patton flinched again at the noise. Muffled voices clawed at his ears and Patton couldn’t breath. He didn’t want them to find him like this. He didn’t want anyone to know. He wanted a hug. He hated himself and the world and his body and he was so stupid and overemotional and lazy and useless and-

“Patton?”

Patton squeezed his hand shut, pressing his palms into his eyes. If he couldn’t see them, they wouldn’t see him. A childish and stupid sentiment just like the rest of him.

“Oh Padre,” Roman whispered from his left. Patton hated that he was too exhausted to figure out if it was pity or compassion in the actor’s voice. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t make anyone else feel worse.

“Go ‘way,” he whispered, “‘m fine.”

A hand pressed against his head. Patton curled into an even tighter ball. The fast that he hadn’t washed in over a week screamed at him. The fingers threaded through his greasy hair and Patton bit back a whimper at the gentle touch. Nails scratched against his scalp, a gentle loving pressure that made Patton’s shoulders shake.

“You are most certainly not,” Logan’s voice came from above him. And oh. Logan was the one petting him like there was nothing else he’d rather do than love Patton in that moment. A warm hand against his numb core. Logan’s voice softened, “But that is alright Patton.”

Patton shifted his hands so that he could take a peek at his friends. Virgil’s panicked eyes stared back at him. He crouched down at Patton’s level, looking him over with careful eyes. Patton covered his eyes again, hating the way that his stomach twisted at Virgil’s search. Of course they’d be worried about that. He was acting out of character.

“Didn’t hurt myself,” he mumbled. Logan’s hand in his hair stilled. “Don’t like hurting myself.”

“We didn’t-” Logan’s voice cracked. Patton wanted to tear his own voice out. Stupid. Selfish. How dare he make them worry. He’d be fine in a couple of days. They would have their Happy Pappy Patton and nothing would change.

Calloused hands touched his gently. They curled around his and tugged his hands away from his face. Patton squeezed his eyes shut, but in the brief moment of light he caught sight of Virgil’s gentle face and Roman’s stricken one.

“I don’t like it either,” Virgil whispered, running his thumb over the back of Patton’s hand. Patton’s shoulders dropped at the understanding in his tone. He cracked his eyes open and meet Virgil’s shaky smile. “Too much work, isn’t it? And god, do I hate having to work even more.”

Patton’s lips twitched at the joke.

“There we go,” Virgil coaxed, tightening his grip on Patton’s hands. Patton felt more tears well up in his eyes and even surrounded by their warmth he was so _tired._ Virgil tugged at him as he tried to curl back in on himself, and Logan’s hand on his head pressed down gently before resuming it’s stroking. “You up for telling us what’s wrong, Pat?”

Patton shrugged. The whole problem was that _nothing_ was wrong. He didn’t have any reason for feeling the way that he did.

“Well this just isn’t fair,” Roman declared into the silence. Patton could feel Virgil’s hands twitch in surprise at the words. Roman pouted and then opened his arms up wide. “The other two get to comfort you and here I am doing nothing! It’s the cruelest thing in the world. I, for one, would very much like a hug.”

He winked. Patton sobbed, just once before throwing himself forward into Roman’s arms. Roman tugged him close, arms wrapping around his waist and face buried in his hair. Patton felt his warmth leech into his own cold bones. They tangled together until Virgil joined them; Logan’s voice above them all starting to rattle off ways that they could help and things they needed to do.

Patton buried his face in Roman’s chest, and let himself fall.

His friends would catch him.


End file.
